Wednesday Morning 3am
by Maria Alvarez
Summary: A tale about Emmerdale's Chris Tate to the tune of Simon & Garfunkel


1 Wednesday Morning 3am  
  
By Chris Tate (dictating to Melanie Dent)  
  
A Tale of Charity & the Tates  
  
I borrowed the idea of this and the title from Simon & Garfunkel's song of same title but have given it a much more sinister twist.  
  
I lay awake in the moonlight. I could hear the soft breathing of the woman I love, as she lies here asleep beside me in the darkness. I don't necessarily need light to see Charity, as I know virtually every inch of her by touch alone.  
  
She looks so beautiful lying there, her peroxide blond head resting on my pillow, her pale skin. But my heart is deeply troubled. I know that come dawn I will need to be out of here, out of Home Farm and Emmerdale for good. I wanted to relish every last moment with Charity, as I cannot take her with me. My reason is that I love her too much to condemn her to the existence into which I am about to enter. Being a Dingle she would probably be able to hack it better than I will. Besides she did not know about Zoë yet and I feel sure that when she does she will hate me and I can't bear that.  
  
"Oh what have I done?" I agonised aloud as I gently stroked Charity's bare forearm. "Why did I do it? One insane moment and a life is destroyed."  
  
"You know why you did it Chris." Says that ever present and irksome small voice that many call a conscience. "You could not bear the idea that Charity was sleeping with your sister."  
  
"It doesn't seem real now." I think to myself in the eerie silence. "It's an illusion surely. When I go to breakfast she will be there with Joseph and, to use Kathy's favourite phrase, everything will be okay."  
  
The thought of the idea of Angie Reynolds looking around the Home Farm estate with her colleagues and the damage that would be done to the reputations of the Home Farm Stud and Tate Haulage. It is not atypical of me, as a Tate, to think about my business interests and reputation before anything else but it was new to recognise that I have real feelings for the woman who lies beside me. half covered by the duvet. But done it I have. Sick of Zoë, feeling sick at what she had done and the way in which she wasn't exactly reticent about it. I had killed her. Lashed out in cold blood. She had not been expecting it, I think almost bitterly. Few people would expect that from a man who was unable to walk. I had to wait until she was sitting down with her back to me, calmly enjoying a glass of claret that Charity had purchased from Rodney Blackstock at knock down price. I had looked at her and hated her smugness, hated the fact that she would have been able to promise Charity far more than I could because of her being able-bodied Relationships between myself and my sister have become irrevocably strained since even before the Bus crash in which Tate Haulage had been involved. Any love I had had left for her had died the moment she had revealed herself as Charity's secret lover.  
  
It had not been difficult therefore for me to count thirty pieces of silver somewhere along the line, sixty if you counted Charity's betrayal but sixty was not so resonant with Biblical significance. Not that I am a religious, Bible believing man. Far from it. I had calmly picked up the poker and wheeled silently across the room towards Zoë and I had raised the poker and with all my strength brought it down across the back of her head. I had flashes of memory from the night Kim had left. The night when she had callously hit me over the head, tipped me out of my chair and legged it to a waiting helicopter, leaving Steve Marchant to carry the can for her misdemeanors.  
  
I heard the crack of Zoë's skull and the sickening crunch gave me a momentary satisfaction before I was hit with the horrible implications. There was blood all over the floor and Zoë lay still, never to breathe another word of her liaison with Charity. I realised that this meant I would now never know if Zoë had been lying but I didn't care anymore, I wanted Charity desperately. In fact I was more than prepared to swallow my pride and tell her I loved and wanted her if only she would come back to me. But now Zoë was dead who knew what might happen further to upset the balance?  
  
I went around the room, smashing up a few ornaments here and there and spreading Zoë's blood a bit to make it look like an intruder had surprised her. I then put the bloodied poker beside her body and leant down to whisper to her. "Who's won now Zoë?"  
  
I wheeled myself into the corridor and around a bit until I espied my loyal lackey Terry Woods.  
  
"What's wrong boss?" Terry had asked. I mentioned that I had heard noises in the lounge and Terry came with me to investigate what he did not realize until later on were the scenes of his own boss's crime.  
  
"Christ, they killed her!" I said. Crocodile tears were necessary and I produced a few for effect. Terry was horrified.  
  
"Whoever done it must be some way away by now." Terry said.  
  
"I know. Hell Terry, what she and Charity may or may not have done together is bad but this, well it's far worse than anything Kim ever did to us."  
  
Terry locked the door. I sensed that he knew what had happened. I sat up alone in another room and finally, about midnight. Charity came back. Wet through with summer rain and shivering cold. She entered with some trepidation, not sure whether or not she would walk into a full scale Tate family row. Her few hours away since Zoë's ill-advised confession must have made her realise one thing. She had to end it for good. I was the one she wanted. I could be jealous and possessive too but I knew she loved me.  
  
"Chris." She whispered.  
  
"Zoë?" I came haring out of the study in my chair almost knocking her over.  
  
"No it's me. What's wrong Chris? Look like you just saw a ghost."  
  
"Zoë went out and hasn't come back."  
  
"Do you blame her?" Charity said.  
  
"No." I bowed his head. "No. Not really."  
  
"I came back." Charity said.  
  
"I'm glad you did."  
  
"Was she making it up?" I asked her. "About you two I mean?"  
  
"I'm saying nothing." Charity said.  
  
"I love you Charity." I said. "I have done for so long but I've been so afraid of admitting it to anyone but I can't hold back anymore."  
  
"I love you too Chris." She said. "That's why I never could understand Zoë. She was just trying to break us up and I don't want that no more."  
  
"Nor do I." I said quickly knowing also that I would have to leave sooner than she might expect with just memories.  
  
"I'm really tired Chris." She said softly. "Let's go to bed."  
  
"Alright." I whispered softly, kissing her hand.  
  
She fell asleep pretty quickly but I lay awake for hours, knowing that I could not stay. I had to leave the village because of what I had done. If Charity came to know what I had done then she would hate me and to lose her would mean I died inside. That's why I lie here, savoring her beauty and the sensation of her body close to mine. I know that in a few hours I will have to leave her and these precious few hours will be all I have left to remember. I shudder and sigh, cuddling down close to Charity and knowing with a sigh that morning is just a few hours away.  
  
POSTSCRIPTS  
  
Charity's interpretation of events. Dictated to Melanie Dent by Charity Dingle  
  
I awoke and found that Chris was not there. I panicked for a moment and then sighed, as I wanted to feel his kiss, his touch. I dressed quickly and went downstairs. I found Terry in the kitchen looking dazed.  
  
"Tel, where is Chris?" I asked.  
  
"Zoë's gone." Terry said.  
  
"She's probably gone to stay with friends or something." I said, not then understanding.  
  
"No. She's gone." Terry said softly. "So has Chris. He left at dawn. I'm sorry Charity."  
  
"What? Where is he? You're lying. He probably just went to work early or summat." Tears were streaming down me face at this point.  
  
Terry took hold of my arm.  
  
"Listen Charity." He said with an urgency, which compelled me to listen.  
  
"Zoë is dead. Someone broke in last night and bashed her over t'head. She must have surprised him."  
  
"Well it can't have been any of my lot. Sam is too daft and Uncle Zak hasn't got the strength at the moment. Our Cain is away."  
  
"No." Terry said softly. "I think the killer was a lot closer to home than that."  
  
His meaning was clear and I did not like it. He did not openly accuse Chris but he might as well have done.  
  
My heart pounded as I opened the heavy door to find Angie Reynolds standing there.  
  
"Angie." I said, keeping my voice level. I had not been here, I reminded myself. I had nothing to fear.  
  
'Hello Charity." Angie's face was impassive. "I need to talk to Zoë about what happened in the street last night."  
  
"Zoë ain't here." I said.  
  
"What about Chris?" Angie persisted.  
  
"He ain't here either. He went out early and hasn't come back yet."  
  
"I see." Angie said and I was not sure if she believed me or not. Being as I am a Dingle she probably didn't but then she did do it with our Cain which is the biggest sign of being deranged I ever knew.  
  
"I need to ask Chris a few questions." I said softly, hoping Angie would not hear me. But she had.  
  
"I would like to ask him a few myself." She said coldly and, turning, she walked away into the grey mist. 


End file.
